Title: Drenched

Fandom: Digimon

Pairing: Daisuke/Takeru

Rating: R

Words: 1646

Summary: It's so so hot, and Takeru feels so so hot, and Daisuke is too too hot.

It's a bad week for the air conditioning to give out. Even after dark, the air feels thick and awkward, the breeze doing little more than tousling sweat-soaked hair, too feeble to really cool heated skin.

Takeru lays sprawled across the bed, body too warm to move, but too uncomfortable to sleep. The ceiling fan in the living room hums quietly beyond his open bedroom door, doing what it can to slice through the humidity. The sound of cars crawling through the streets, slow and as lethargic as he feels, drifts in through the window.

Beside him Daisuke, a furnace of blazing heat pressed against his flesh, turns Takeru's palm over in his hands, kissing and nibbling at his fingers.

It takes a worrying amount of effort just to open his mouth, even more to find the words he needs. "Go back to your own room, Daisuke."

The ministrations don't stop, a warm tongue tracing a thick wet path along the line of his thumb. "Don't want to," Daisuke mutters against his knuckles.

Takeru sighs, and it sounds harsh and laboured to his own ears. "It's too hot to share a bed," he tries again.

Daisuke doesn't appear to agree or disagree, doesn't respond at all. His fingers gently wrap around Takeru's wrist, bringing it to his mouth, lips pressing against the pulse point. His tongue slips out again, sweeping across the damp skin, teasing the sensitive area.

Takeru would yank his hand back, if he had the strength.

Instead, he stays quiet, glaring into space under sleep-heavy eyelids, as Daisuke's lips creep up his arm, kissing at the skin below his elbow. He feels rather than sees Daisuke shift, and then one hand snakes out to press against his stomach, slipping slightly against the moist flesh. Daisuke rolls closer, and Takeru feels like he might cry, because Daisuke is so so hot beside him and Takeru's forgotten what it feels like to be cold.

Daisuke leans closer still, ducking his head to kiss at Takeru's shoulder, at his collar bone, at his jaw. When Takeru finally brings up an arm to push Daisuke away, Daisuke merely grasps it, uses the motion to pull Takeru onto his side, bringing them face to face. Pulls Takeru deeper into his arms, and Takeru whines and tries to struggle away because every inch of flesh that touches him just reminds him of how soaked he is, how uncomfortable he is, how tired he is and how there's no relief to be found.

Daisuke catches his arms easily, pins them to his chest. For every wounded noise that spills unbidden from Takeru's mouth, he kisses Takeru's face. Gentle, feather-light, against his cheekbones, his eyelids, his nose, his brow. His breath is as scorching as his body, coaxing an even deeper flush to Takeru's cheeks.

"Please," Takeru whispers, and he sounds broken and needy and he hates it and doesn't care.

And then Daisuke pulls away, rolling, his legs sliding over the side of the bed. He sits up, sheets trying to stick to his back, staring through the door to the rest of the apartment.

There's no rush of cold air to fill the vacated space beside Takeru, just thick thick warmth and emptiness.

"C'mon," Daisuke grunts quietly, body filled with the awkward tension that only comes from lack of sleep. "Get up."

Takeru lets out another soft whimper when Daisuke turns to tug at his arm. Moving is painful and difficult and Daisuke shouldn't have the strength to pull him up, but, then, Takeru doesn't have the strength to resist.

Daisuke holds onto Takeru's wrist, and Takeru steadies himself with a grip on Daisuke's arm, and they somehow roll to standing in a tangled mess of slick limbs. Takeru stumbles, light-headed and drunk on the heat, but Daisuke's there to catch him, to lead him from his bedroom to the matching heat of the living room. Takeru's legs feel like rubber, like liquid, and he leans against Daisuke despite the added warmth.

Daisuke leads him to the bathroom, no cooler than anywhere else, and Takeru doesn't get the chance to ask why, is just swept up in a deep kiss, arms wrapping around his waist and tongue pressing into his mouth.

He's too tired to fight it. Just slides his own arms up and around Daisuke's neck, clings to him, let's his weight press into him. Daisuke grunts into his mouth, ducking slightly, and then his hands grip at the back of Takeru's thighs and it's only natural to fall into the grasp, to let himself be lifted, to wrap his legs around Daisuke's hips.

He's distantly aware that they're moving, and then his back hits the wall, and the tile manages to be refreshing against his skin. He lets his legs slip down, one after the other, taking a second to regain his balance.

Daisuke leans back, and the look in his eyes is as heated as the air around them, sweltering and suffocating. Takeru struggles to breathe and feels himself sweating anew.

It only occurs to him that Daisuke has manoeuvred them into the shower when he sees him reach for the dial.

The water is a freezing cold shock, and his first instinct is to run from it, but Daisuke, still standing in front of the open door to the shower cubicle, roughly nudges him back under the spray. His skin crawls and goosepimples and he gasps and tries to hide, too exhausted and too shocked to realise that he can't. He presses back against the wall, hair plastered to his face and neck, shuddering, arms curled around his stomach.

Daisuke steps towards him, the water raining down on him, tracing the path of muscle and curves, and Takeru watches with wide eyes as Daisuke crowds against him. The tile behind him suddenly feels like ice and Daisuke's body is warm still when it leans against him. Daisuke pants against his neck, hands pinning his wrists to the wall, and Takeru closes his eyes and lets his body adjust to the shock, lets himself enjoy the respite from the heat as cold cold water washes over him, cools every part it can reach, manages to loosen the knot in his throat and ease his breathing.

He feels dizzy and every movement is slow as Daisuke pulls back, one shaky hand pushing his hair off of his face. His cheeks are still flushed and that look is still in his eyes and Takeru shivers and lets his head fall back against the wall with a dull thump.

Daisuke's hands press against the tile on either side of his face. "Feel better?" he asks and his voice sounds strained.

Takeru nods dumbly, and groans as Daisuke presses bodily against him, slick slick flesh and aching hardness between his legs. The soaked material of their boxers does little to lessen the sensation, to stop the moan that slips from Takeru's lips, and he reaches up, grasps at Daisuke's shoulders, tries to pull him closer.

They move in unison, gasping and thrusting, each roll of Daisuke's hips nudging Takeru back against the wall. Water still sprays around them, struggling to slip between them, to find the space. Takeru's legs shake beneath him and he feels exhausted and desperate and his hands slide for purchase over Daisuke's shoulder blades.

Daisuke growls and it's a sound that always wrenches a shudder from Takeru's spine, a sound that makes him lurch onto his tiptoes, arms around Daisuke's neck, and the noise he makes sounds almost like a sob. The ice cold water presses down on him as Daisuke presses against him, and he's dizzy and muddled and he knows he won't last long, feels like every tension is being forced out of him with every frantic roll of Daisuke's hips.

He gasps and whines and Daisuke's hand slides down, around his back, slipping into the back of his soaked boxers, grasping at him and dragging him closer still, and for a second Takeru can't hear the water thundering around them, can only hear his own breathing, his own heartbeat.

And then everything's deafening, and he's spinning and crying out and his shoulders slide against the wall as his back arches, and he can feel Daisuke fall over the edge with him, despite the water and the sweat and the dizziness.

When he finally opens his eyes, Daisuke gives him a tired smile and shuts off the spray.

He can't support himself, can't will his legs to catch him, and Daisuke has to help him to the bathroom counter, help him pull himself up onto it and sit down. The floor is soaked where Daisuke never bothered to close the shower door, and Takeru would feel indignant, or at least a little embarrassed, at the fact that Daisuke has to help him remove his damp boxers if he wasn't so exhausted. Instead, he watches as Daisuke drops them on the floor, along with his own, and leaves them where they land. He stands between Takeru's spread thighs, turning around so he faces away and wrapping Takeru's leg's around his waist, his arms around his neck. He hoists Takeru up with no apparent effort, carrying him on his back across the apartment, and gracelessly drops him on his bed.

The sheets feel infinitely more comfortable under his heated skin and the air doesn't feel so repressive, so painful in his chest. Takeru's eyes drift shut, and it feels like a slow blink, but Daisuke disappears to the kitchen and returns with a jar of iced water and two glasses before he manages to open his eyes again. He watches silently as Daisuke places them on the bedside table and sits on the bed.

"I'm calling in sick for you tomorrow. Don't let yourself get that hot again," Daisuke whispers.

Takeru's asleep before he can respond.